Dance of the Bones

It had been a piece of extreme good fortune that, on the night Jane ordered him to take the José boys out, he’d had his latest shipment of succinylcholine stashed in his safe awaiting delivery the next time he drove up to Phoenix. A year or so earlier, when he’d delivered his first load of that to a well-­heeled customer up north, he’d asked Lucy, his wife, who was also an L.P.N., about it. She’d answered his question without having any idea why he was asking, but that was how he knew the medication’s primary use was in paralyzing patients prior to surgery. Henry had a feeling that the guy who bought it from him in boxes containing a dozen vials of the stuff was using it for something a lot more interesting than prepping surgery patients.

The point was, Henry had been in possession of a supply of the medication when he’d needed it most. And because Lucy was a diabetic and on insulin, he’d had easy access to a supply of syringes as well. Once he had collected those, he was good to go.

First he’d set up a meeting with Carlos, assuring him that Jane had agreed to come through with the extra cash. Henry had suggested Rattlesnake Skull charco as the site for their meetup because most ­people on the reservation avoided the spot whenever possible. The two men had been sitting side by side in the cab of Carlos’s Jeep Cherokee having a little chat when Henry had plunged the loaded syringe into the man’s bare upper arm. Henry had been both amazed and gratified to see how quickly and thoroughly the drug had worked.

By the time it wore off, Henry had Carlos cuffed and secured to a cottonwood sapling growing on the edge of the charco. After that it was just a matter of collecting the other two brothers and bringing them along for the ride. Henry had come to the meeting with one of his stash of unregistered weapons, knowing and dreading the whole time that he might be forced to use it.

Yes, Jane may have ordered him to do it, but Henry had reasons of his own for being willing to. Henry had needed the José brothers gone on his own account, and Gabe Ortiz as well. They all knew who he was and could identify him. Henry couldn’t afford to be sent to prison any more than Jane Dobson could.

Henry’s real problem with carrying out Jane’s order was that, despite all his years in law enforcement, this was the first time he had ever killed someone. He had assured Carlos and Paul that if they’d just tell him where the shipment was, he’d let them go. That had been a lie, of course, but they’d believed him—­or at least Paul had. Once Paul spilled the beans and admitted that Timmy had put the shipment somewhere safe, that was it. Henry had covered their faces with grocery bags before stepping back and pulling the trigger. Then, after barfing his guts out, he’d fired again. Carlos and Paul were dead after that first round of bullets hit them. The second volley was just to be sure. After that Henry had gone looking for the kid, who, in all the hubbub, had managed to get loose and make good his escape.

He’d called Jane while he was looking, thinking she’d appreciate having an update. That had backfired. He could tell she was pissed, but so was he. It was easy for her to sit on her lazy ass in Tucson and issue the orders as long as she had Henry working his own butt off to carry them out.

From Henry’s point of view, that was what was wrong with this whole arrangement. He was tired of being bossed around, not just by Jane, but by Lucy, too. He was done. He’d give the woman her damned diamonds, pick up his money, and that would be it. He’d take care of Tim and Gabe, of course. That was a must, but after that, Henry was out of there.

Most of the illegal commerce crossing the border was headed north rather than south, but Henry knew ­people who could and would help transport him and his wad of cash in the other direction. Why work for a living? Why bust his balls herding a Border Patrol SUV all over hell and gone, when he could shuck the whole thing and live like a king in Mexico?

Yes, Henry thought. It was definitely time for him to ride off into the sunset.

Out of the shower, Henry dressed. He was almost out the door when one last thought occurred to him. Jane had promised him a bonus for cleaning up her mess, but what if she considered him just another part of that same mess? What if Jane was pla

In that case, Henry had best be on guard. He was determined that Jane Dobson wouldn’t take him down without a fight. He already had one weapon on him, but when he went to the garage to pick up the diamonds, he’d grab another one as well. If one gun was good, two were better.

Henry wasn’t due at Jane’s until after dark. Since he still had time to spare, he sat down and made a single phone call to a number in Nogales. The call that would show on his bill would lead to what was ostensibly an aboveboard shipping and expediting company that specialized in cross-­border transportation issues. Inside the company, however, were ­people who handled far more questionable transportation arrangements.

Henry’s call was patched through to one of those. These were ­people Henry dealt with often. It took only a matter of minutes for him to negotiate a deal that included a time, location, and price for having him and his goods carried across the border and deep into the interior of Mexico. Early the next morning, he’d drive out to the Organ Pipe National Monument, park his truck at the appointed spot, lock it, and walk away.

As Henry hung up the phone, he was in a much better frame of mind. Tim José had been locked in the back of the truck for going on twenty hours, Gabe Ortiz for only half that long. Still, without water, they wouldn’t last much longer. A few hours of being parked in a black vehicle in direct sunlight would finish them off. Yes, ­people would know it was Henry’s truck, but Henry would be long gone by then. And so would Gabe and Tim. Other than parking the truck, Henry wouldn’t have to lift a finger or pull a trigger. That might not be better for the two boys, but it would sure as hell be better for Henry.

WHEN LORRAINE JOSÉ FINALLY FELL into an exhausted slumber, Lani made her escape. Out in the hallway she ran into Lucy Rojas. “What are you doing here?” Lucy wanted to know. “Isn’t this supposed to be your weekend off?”

“It is,” Lani answered, “but Mrs. José needed me. You’ve heard about her sons?”

Lucy nodded. “It’s terrible.”

“Yes, it is,” Lani agreed, “so if she wakes up and asks for me, call me immediately.”

“I will,” Lucy said. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a group over at the airport searching for Tim José and Gabe Ortiz. I’m going there to help.”

“I hope you find them,” Lucy said.

“So do I.”

Out in the parking lot, Lani hopped into her Ford Fusion and headed for the airport. That was something of a misnomer, however, since the airport in Sells was an airport in name only, one that saw few planes land or take off in the course of a year. These days it was mostly a hangout for teenagers who went there to neck and drink.

Decades earlier the tribal chairman had been a pilot who had kept his own small Cessna there. At the time the airport had consisted of a single landing strip/runway as well as several outbuildings. When the chairman’s plane had crashed, killing all on board, the tribe had stopped doing upkeep on the runway. Most of the outbuildings had been repurposed or rented out. One of those was the sturdy metal Quonset hut that Henry Rojas used as a garage and workshop, leasing it from the tribe for a nominal sum.

Even though few planes came and went these days, the airport’s metal cattle guard still kept grazing animals from straying onto the property. As Lani approached, she saw a collection of cars scattered along the fence line. Taking a hint from where the other cars were parked, she stopped along the fence line as well. Leo Ortiz’s tow truck was pulled up close to the door of a Quonset hut. Then she saw what looked like the flare of something that might have been a blowtorch. She was shading her eyes and squinting in that direction when someone knocked on the window next to her head.